Page 356 of From Rakes to Riches

“I hired a man to look into the situation.”

“You had someonespyon me?” She didn’t think she’d ever be able to breathe again. She looked about the room as if she expected to find a man hiding behind the draperies.

“Of course not,” said the viscount. “He looked into public records. My sympathies to you and your family on the death of your father. I was in the north at the time.”

“And you would have come to his funeral?” she said, appalled at the bitterness that filled her every word. She had sworn she wouldn’t allow her desperate circumstances to change her sovery much, and she regretted it. “Forgive me, my lord, that was uncalled for.”

“You do not need to apologize to me,” he said in the mildest voice she’d yet heard from him. “You have been through enough.”

Oh God, did he know the truth about Father’s death? Was he even now going to shout her deception to the world? She’d never thought that the man she’d known as Tom the cook’s son would be capable of such a thing. But this was Viscount Thurlow, a man whose family was no longer respected by theton, their own class of society.

“Youarea survivor, Miss Shelby,” he continued. “I am impressed at your thought to come to me.”

“I didn’t come toyou,” she said, swallowing back her relief. Surely he would have said something if he knew her secret. “I came for Tom’s help.”

“But I’m Tom, and I have a proposition for you. Marry me.”

Victoria stared up at the viscount, feeling the blood drain from her face. Surely he was making a terrible joke at her expense. She looked for a sly expression but found none. He was watching her impassively, and there was nothing to indicate that he was even attracted to her.

Because, of course, he wasn’t. He had his own plans, just as she did. Stepping away, she put down her notebook and really looked at him: a successful, handsome nobleman asking a poor, maidenly commoner to marry him.

A buried part of her was weak enough to want to shout “Yes!” with terrifying relief. Thank goodness another, stronger part of her surfaced. “My lord, this is terribly presumptuous on your part. We don’t even know one another.”

“Don’t we?”

His voice had deepened, softened, and for a moment she thought back longingly to lazy summer days spent reading hiswords and laughing, so anxious to write back. She stared into the viscount’s eyes, looking for the man she thought she’d known. But he was a stranger.

“No, I don’t know you,” she answered firmly. “You may have written to me, but since you pretended to be someone else, everything you wrote is suspect.”

“My true identity was a secret, but that did not mean everything was a lie.”

He looked uncomfortable, as if he wasn’t used to needing persuasion to get his way.

“But I’ll never be able to believe that, will I?” Oh, where did her words spring from? In the end, what would she accomplish by this—driving away a rich viscount who’d asked to marry her? How could she let her pride stand in the way of her mother’s empty belly—of the woman’s very sanity? But if Victoria married him, how would her own name be tainted?

With a heavy sigh, she turned away from him and sat down in a straight-backed chair. She rubbed her arms as if she might never be warm again.

Without looking at him, she said, “Tell me why you wish to marry me—and don’t say that you’re rescuing me. We both know that that is not the reason.”

“It’s part of the reason. You came to me for help, and I’m offering it.”

At least he didn’t know that she’d been forward enough to come looking for a husband. “You can have any woman you want, my lord, and they would bring along fine dowries.”

“I don’t need money,” he said shortly.

She studied him, trying to step away from her emotions to see what he was hiding. But he was too good at wearing a mask. After all, this was the man who’d lied about his identity from the time he was ten.

She had to make certain of his motives. “Then you need prestige, a woman who can bring you connections.”

“I don’t need that, either. I remember everything you wrote to me about your training as a gentleman’s daughter. You will make a fine wife.”

A fine wife. What didthatmean? And most of Lord Thurlow’s class would not call her father a gentleman. He was their banker, their trusted confidant where their finances were concerned—but not a gentleman, because he had accepted money for his services.

She tried to remember what girlish musings about her wifely education could have possibly impressed Tom—Lord Thurlow—but her thoughts were too jumbled with confusion. She needed to understandwhybefore she accepted his offer of marriage.

Because, of course, she couldn’t refuse. She could tell herself to be wary of his reputation, but in the end, rumors mattered little compared to a harsh life in poverty.

“I need more of an explanation from you, my lord,” she said simply, too tired for subterfuge. “Why me?”

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